Erin Quinn uses the language of childhood games to speak about serious things: extraction, collapse, complicity. Their prints and sculptures draw viewers in through the softness of nostalgia, only to ask harder questions—about the cost of comfort, the price of progress, and who’s truly winning when the system is designed to fail the many for the benefit of the few.

Drawing on the structure of board games, Quinn explores the tragedy of the commons: finite resources, shared stakes, and players acting in self-interest. In games, there are rules, agreements, and the illusion of fairness. In real life, power rewrites the rules, and environmental crises are not accidental—they are designed, neglected, and exploited. These works challenge the idea that we are powerless, instead asking us to consider the consequences of our choices, both individual and collective.

Quinn’s practice is grounded in rigorous research and deep engagement with place. They walk the land, gather evidence, and work with what remains: sediment, debris, plastic, silence. Each material—natural, reclaimed, or synthetic—is deliberately selected, carrying the weight of what’s been lost, what persists, and what might still be possible.

This work isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about making the invisible visible. It’s about memory as a form of resistance. It is important to find comfort in discomforting circumstances. Quinn’s use of play is personal, rooted in formative experience, but the questions it raises extend far beyond the self.

Their work becomes a quiet but insistent call for environmental justice, shared accountability, and systemic change. Through these playful yet pointed forms, Quinn invites viewers to reflect, reckon, and reconsider the future we’re all shaping.